She stood on the front porch and sipped espresso. She wasn’t supposed to have caffeine but at this stage of pregnancy, surely the baby was cooked in the oven, nothing she did would have much effect.
She watched Lennox on the beach, staring at the loch. He hadn’t moved in a long time. What must it be like for him? She tried to remember being sixteen. She was a rebel, fighting her parents, who tried to control her and Freya. At the time it felt like typical teen-angst stuff, how every generation fights the one before. But looking back she recognised patterns of coercion by her dad. He’d never abused them, not physically, but he needed to control what happened in his house, couldn’t stand the chaotic energy of teenage girls in his space. He tried hard to bring them to heel, curfews, locking them out, embarrassing them at every turn.
She started dating Michael three months after her dad died of a heart attack. It was so obvious with hindsight that she’d fallen into another controlling relationship because of her grief. He was charming to start with, of course, that’s how they do it. But even then he’d chipped away at her confidence. She wondered if it was deliberate, using her pain about her dad to dominate her. Or if it was an instinct for control, like her dad. How do men end up like that, what’s the psychology? Angry at their own impotence, they take charge where they can.
They’d been maths students together at Edinburgh Uni, met in a statistics class. He was so much more confident than she was, easily took control from the start. It was her least-favourite class but he loved it. She preferred the abstract, non-practical stuff of algebra and calculus, the pure maths. He liked everything practical, was doing a joint degree with economics. But for so long he hid their countless differences and she willingly ignored them. As their relationship went on, she became less of an individual, more like an appendage to his ego. Her own social group shrank, his gang of boorish, right-wing mates with trophy girlfriends became the replacement.
She had half an inkling to go into research when they graduated but he talked her into teaching. That was all women were fit to do, apparently. By then, he’d already chipped away at her confidence so much that she acquiesced pathetically, even apologised for having ideas above her station. He got a job at a hedge fund which suited him perfectly. She never felt comfortable in front of a classroom of kids but she struggled on, thinking it must be her fault, that everything was her fault. She cringed now at the memories, how she’d allowed him to manipulate her at every turn.
She sipped her coffee and wondered about Lennox. The pressure teenage boys were under, it was a miracle any of them turned out right. Not that girls had it any easier. Ava had done her best in school to create a respectful environment but she was always firefighting petty power plays, girls denigrating each other, boys projecting macho bullshit. She’d never had Lennox in her class, but he didn’t seem like that. She thought about how he saved her. It felt weird to have her freedom because of a teenage kid.
She felt a hand on her back as Freya joined her holding a large mug of tea.
Freya frowned at Ava’s espresso cup. ‘Did you sleep OK?’
‘Best night in months.’
Freya nodded at her stomach. ‘How’s the wee one?’
‘Quiet. But definitely still in there.’
She watched Lennox straighten up and walk along the beach.
‘He seems like a good kid,’ Freya said.
‘He is.’
‘It’s quite the weird surrogate family you’ve got yourself here.’
Ava laughed. Freya didn’t know the half of it.
Freya nodded. ‘It beats what you had with that psycho.’
‘Yeah.’
Ava always loved Freya’s bluntness. They’d stayed up last night clearing the air, reminiscing about the not-so-good old days. They danced around the topic of Michael’s abuse, talked about Freya’s string of short-term girlfriends, how they were both dealing with the aftermath of their upbringing in different, fucked-up ways.
A noise made Ava look up. A low rumble and whine came from the east, behind the hills at the loch head. It quickly got loud, a fierce energy to it. She glanced at Freya, who smiled. The noise exploded as three fighter jets came over the hill and banked, dropping to skirt low over the water, heading west to Skye and open sea. The noise of the engines tore the air as they swept in formation down the loch. Then they were gone, engines growling and singing as they disappeared beyond the horizon.
‘They use the glens for practice,’ Freya said.
‘Practice for what?’
Freya shrugged. ‘War?’
Ava thought about Sandy in the van, the ball of light overhead when they arrived a few nights ago. A different universe to million-pound jets lumbering through the air like rocks.
Another noise, this time shouty fem-punk coming from Freya’s pocket. She pulled her phone out. When she saw who was calling she held the phone like it was infected.
‘Mum,’ she said.
‘When’s the last time she called you?’
Freya shook her head. ‘Maybe a year ago.’
‘This isn’t a coincidence.’
‘It is not.’ She lifted the phone up. ‘Should I answer?’
The song kept playing on the ringer.
Ava stared at it.
‘Sure,’ she said eventually. ‘Knowledge is power.’
Freya pressed answer and put it on speaker.
‘Mother,’ she said. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’
‘Do you have to, Freya?’
Ava shivered at her mum’s voice. She was scared to breathe in case she gave herself away.
‘Well, it’s been a while.’
‘Please park your attitude today. Have you seen the news?’
Freya glanced at Ava. ‘The political shitstorm?’
‘Your sister.’
‘What about her?’
‘You really don’t know?’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘She’s been abducted, taken from her home by a violent youth.’
Freya raised her eyebrows and Ava glanced at Lennox on the beach. But the anxiety in their mum’s voice was real.
‘Really?’ Freya was trying not to smile.
‘Michael is beside himself with worry. He had to go to Accident and Emergency, you know, attacked by that hooligan.’
Ava tensed at his name.
‘I’m sure he’ll cope,’ Freya said. She was clearly itching to say more.
‘You don’t sound very concerned.’
Freya looked at Ava, who shook her head.
Freya stared at her phone. ‘We don’t know what the story is, that’s all. It might not be like it seems.’
‘What do you know?’
‘Nothing, Mother, but I know Ava. And I know Michael.’
‘Whatever do you mean? He’s been a wonderful husband. Gave her the finest life, looked after her.’
Ava rolled her eyes. Freya raised her eyebrows and Ava shook her head again. Mum had always been blind to Michael’s behaviour, he kept her sweet. She’d spent her own marriage blind to her husband’s bullying, or internalising it, and now she was doing the same with Michael and Ava. Ava had tried to talk to her about it, but Mum deflected the conversation from anything uncomfortable. It made sense that she was now focusing on Michael’s concern over Ava’s wellbeing.
‘I’m sure Ava is fine,’ Freya said.
‘Michael is going mad with worry. I’ve had the police here. And others…’
Ava stared at Freya and her sister understood.
‘What others?’
‘I don’t know, they showed me IDs.’
Ava pressed mute on Freya’s phone. ‘Ask if they’re still there.’
Freya unmuted and asked.
Their mum hesitated. ‘Of course not, they just asked a few questions then left.’
The hesitation was enough. Mum was an expert in self-delusion but she was a piss-poor liar.
Ava reached over and ended the call.
‘They were still there,’ Freya said.
Ava stepped off the porch to get Lennox. ‘We have to go. Now.’