Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tess

I feel bad at ditching Mum. It’s been a tough morning, all things considered. Every time I think of Ozzy, I have to steel myself, and seeing the pain in Mum’s eyes stirs up my insides.

It’s not only the tears I’m fighting.

When Imogen contacted me asking for us to meet on the seafront, I didn’t think twice. It was the distraction I needed, and away from my room, away from the temptation to lift up the floorboard, means I’ve managed to remain clean.

I’ve Imogen to thank for that, although I’m not enjoying the breeze blowing in from the Channel. The contrary spring weather’s tricked me again. I wish I’d brought my coat.

I use my hand as a peak, shielding my eyes from the glare, and scan Weymouth beach. It’s mostly young couples with pushchairs, or the elderly bent over their walking aids. Easter attracts the newly-weds and nearly-deads.

I shouldn’t say that. It’s disrespectful. Besides, I can see an old man paddling in the sea and another offering his woman an ice cream. They’re enjoying themselves, no matter their age or the chilly breeze.

I wonder if Logan would feel differently about life if he got to live a little.

The old bugger refuses to use a wheelchair, and a walk along the Esplanade’s a non-starter, but we could take him out for a drive, stop for fish and chips, or tea and Dorset apple cake. There’s a lovely café and gardens in Upwey. They have a wishing well. I threw a pound coin in last summer. I thought about all the things I could wish for, like being free of my father, understanding who I am, to stop cutting, but I decided to wish Mum and Dylan long, happy and healthy lives. I should probably go back and top up my pound.

I budge up on the wooden bench, as a woman eating chips sits beside me. They smell good. It doesn’t matter I had lunch a short while ago, my stomach still rumbles. She offers me one, but I smile and politely decline. I’m hoping when Imogen gets here we can head for a cosy coffee shop where I can buy a hot chocolate and a pecan and maple twist.

That’s something I’d like to do with Logan, but I have no way of transporting him. We could go with Mum, but he complains about getting into her Mini. It’s too low and there’s not enough room for him. He needs to stretch out to stop his joints from seizing up. We need a bigger car, like Griff’s, but I doubt Logan would go out in that. He’d need a leg-up for a start, and extra padding on the seat. The Land Rover’s a bit rustic. As Griff says, it’s built for practicality, not comfort.

Logan’s built for comfort these days.

Still no sign of Imogen. I was surprised to receive a text from her. She got my number from Logan. Says she’d like to get to know me better, especially since we’d be seeing more of each other. She feels we have a connection, and she’d like to explore it further. Explore was her word, not mine. I’ve not had a chance to tell Mum about her yet, what with Ozzy and then rushing out after lunch. I’ll let her know before she goes round tonight.

Imogen suggested meeting by the Clock Tower. It’s an easy landmark and it’s clear along the pavement at the moment. The Easter fair will be set up at the weekend. It’ll be heaving then. I never go. I hate all the sidling past people that goes on, all the up-close-and-personal stuff. Totally outside my comfort zone. Makes me sick with nerves.

I’m nervous now, and pleased I didn’t accept the chip from my bench neighbour, as I can feel my lunch working its way back up my food pipe. My mouth’s dry, too, but that could be the wind blowing away the moisture.

A dog’s appeared and it’s sniffing my boots. It’s a Labrador.

‘Tess. Hi. Sorry I’m late.’

I divert my eyes from the dog and see Imogen in a lurid pink mac, which is open and flapping like a crazy flamingo. She’s standing next to the Clock Tower. Her hair’s blowing around her face, and she pulls a strand from her mouth. She’s hanging onto the dog.

‘This is Honey,’ she says. ‘I thought we could walk her along the beach. You take the lead.’

In our friendship? In the yomp across the sand? Imogen thrusts the leather strap from her hand to mine, and the dog pulls me into a standing position. I’ve taken the lead. I mock myself for thinking Imogen meant something else.

‘She’s lively today. It’s the wind. Gets right up her tail.’ Imogen laughs, shoves her hands into her pockets, and nods for me to get going. We head for the large sweep of the bay. It’s the only place dogs are allowed during the holiday season.

I’m reminded of Ozzy and the raw ache resurfaces. I blame the wind for the tears in my eyes and hand the lead back to Imogen. ‘Sorry.’

An arm is threaded through mine. ‘Is this about Griff’s dog?’

Nodding, I look out to sea. ‘Have you heard? We lost him.’ I’m pulled so close to Imogen, I can feel her body heat.

‘I’m so sorry. I knew things were bad. The other day when we were at Logan’s and Griff phoned, he asked me not to worry you with the details. That’s why I didn’t say anything.’

‘And why you lied about Honey?’

We stop, my forward motion coming to an abrupt halt because I’m under Imogen’s control.

‘I did lie. You’re right. I had to think up a reason as to why she needed collecting from the vet’s.’ She looks at me, pleading for my forgiveness. ‘I didn’t want you stressing.’

We continue on our course, Honey stopping to sniff at the flowers, the bus shelters, and the steps down to the beach, and we make our way onto the sand.

The nearer we get to the sea, the blowier it’s becoming. Imogen sets me and Honey free. I choose not to charge head first into the sea. I shiver at the thought as Honey bounds in and out. I can’t separate her splashes from the waves.

‘Are you cold?’ Imogen offers me her mac.

‘You keep it,’ I say. ‘It’ll clash with my hair.’

She smiles, but accepts my reason. ‘Your hair’s a gorgeous colour.’

I point to my head. ‘It’s ginger.’

‘Yes, it is, and from now on, whenever I see a beautiful redhead, I’ll think of you.’

‘And that’s a good thing?’ I’m not seeking compliments. I’m trying to work out where I stand, because I’m no expert when it comes to friendships, but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t flirt with people unless you fancy them or, being cynical, want something from them, and what could Imogen possibly want from me? I have nothing.

‘Why so much self-doubt, Tess?’ She’s folded her arms and she’s frowning. ‘This is to do with your past, the story you’ve never told, isn’t it?’

The sea’s reflecting the bright blue of the sky today, and I notice how Imogen’s eyes are doing the same. I’m concerned she’ll reflect my thoughts. I turn away and try to pick out Honey from two other Labradors bouncing in and out of the water.

Without warning, I find myself in Imogen’s hold again. This time she’s taken my hand and is guiding me towards the wall near a small standpipe. I hitch myself up, sit down and lean against the blue and white horizontal railings. They were redecorated two weeks ago. All their cracks and blemishes have been covered with a simple lick of paint.

Imogen joins me on the wall. ‘I was a lot like you at your age,’ she says. ‘I was happiest in my own company or with my mum, because I didn’t have to explain myself all the time.’

Her knee is resting against mine. I wish she’d explain what that’s about.

‘What were you avoiding?’ I’m confident in asking this question because it’s what I’ve been doing for years – avoiding speaking out, not admitting who I am, sidestepping the truth.

‘I didn’t want to talk about the death of my brother.’ Imogen’s sight is fixed at a spot in the distance. ‘He died when I was eleven.’

That’s heavy, but I sit in silence, respecting her need to not explain herself. I feel the same about Dad’s death. It’s nasty having to go through all that vile detail just to satisfy someone’s morbid curiosity. I know what happened to Dad, I don’t need to enlighten anyone outside of the law.

Imogen’s drawing breath. ‘I wasn’t with Kieran at the time, but my mother told me he died trying to save Griff.’

Woah. Imogen’s statement lands a hefty punch. It’s left me lying on the floor of the ring. Griff was the man who did the saving, not the other way round. What had he done that he required saving from? And more than that, what was so dangerous Imogen’s brother died in the process? Holy shit.

Dizzy from the power of Imogen’s verbal blow, I try to remain focused and keep my mouth shut.

She nudges me. ‘It’s okay. I introduced the subject, you can ask me questions.’

‘I don’t want to,’ I say, realising she’s doing exactly what I did to her at Logan’s – trying to trade secrets. I had no idea hers would involve Griff, but in doing so, it could compromise my mum, and I’m not putting her in danger.

Imogen looks expectant. She wants me to ask. I don’t want to be rude to her, so I’ll tread carefully. ‘Is this what you and Logan mentioned yesterday? Mum knowing about your brother?’

‘Yes.’ Imogen leans into me. ‘I take it neither Griff nor your mum told you about Kieran.’

‘Well, no, but it’s not my business, is it?’ And I vow to keep it that way. If Mum had wanted me to know, she’d have told me.

Imogen sits up straight. ‘No. It wasn’t Griff’s finest hour.’ She’s talking about it with such composure, I’m impressed. It’s a trait I recognise and connect with. ‘He tombstoned off Pulpit Rock and got into trouble,’ she continues. ‘Kieran jumped in after him, but the sea and the boulders got the better of him.’ She’s quiet now; thinking. ‘Thank God Griff came away with only a broken ankle,’ she says, after a moment or two. ‘Of course, he blames himself for Kieran’s death. It seems he’s been trying to put it right from the moment it happened, but you can’t remedy something like that.’

I agree with her. Some things we just have to bear. ‘I guess that explains his need to save everyone and everything.’ I hope that wasn’t disrespectful. My mouth’s engaged before my brain, and if it wasn’t for the stone wall behind my heels, I’d kick myself. ‘He’s all about saving,’ I add, looking at Imogen.

‘That’s what the newspapers said. He’s been quite the local celebrity in the past with his heroic deeds and acts of courage. Did you see the latest piece on him in the Echo?’

‘Griff’s been in the news?’ He kept that quiet. I make a mental note to google him. ‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ I say, realising I haven’t yet acknowledged his death. ‘I was eleven when my dad died.’

‘I remember you saying.’

That’s right. I told her on the day we met.

‘You said you weren’t close,’ she continues. ‘He was part of your family, though. You must have experienced his loss.’

I experienced many things under my father’s regime. His physical loss was not one of them. Not in the way Imogen means.

On the day he died, Dad was demanding Bombay mix of all things. He was drunk, so Mum wasn’t going to risk upsetting him. We got in the car and drove to the supermarket, leaving Dad to fester in his own company. When we got home, I saw him at his bedroom window. He was spying on us, timing our trip or something. I helped Mum put the shopping away, washed my hands and then I rushed upstairs to my room, shutting myself in, purposely avoiding him.

‘Tess.’

I jumped. Hearing his voice panicked me. He was in my room. When I turned, he was there, on my bed. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. Five minutes before, he’d been at his window, sneering down at Mum and me, now he was sprawled top left to bottom right on my bed, one arm across his chest, the other, spewing blood.

‘Get your mum,’ he said. ‘She has to take me seriously now.’ The words were gasped out. ‘Go! I’m not meant to die.’

Like all the times before, when his actions rooted me to the spot, and froze me with terror, I couldn’t move or speak. I couldn’t help, even if I’d wanted to.

His last words were, ‘Think of your mum.’

And that’s what I did. I thought of Mum and how he’d never let her leave. I thought of all the times he’d threatened and abused her, and I thought how in trying to ruin Mum’s life, he’d destroyed his own. He was mad, dangerous, and bleeding to death.

As I watched him take his final breath, Mum entered. After a moment of us both staring at his body, Mum shoved me out through the door and down the stairs to the kitchen, where she made a cup of tea and suggested we should work out what to do next. It was surreal. It was as if nothing bad had happened.

And then reality kicked in.

Mum said, ‘You can’t be involved, Tess. We’ll tell the police we came home, unpacked the shopping and then sat down for half an hour. I’ll say it was me who went upstairs and found Neil. All you need to remember is that you stayed in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating biscuits.’ She checked the barrel. ‘Digestives. Eat one now.’ I did. ‘Dip it in your tea. Let a few crumbs fall in.’ I did that, too. ‘Leave your mug on the table.’

‘They’ll want to know what you were doing in my room, Mum.’

‘I was looking for your father.’

‘He doesn’t go in my room.’

She’d faltered at that.

‘Had you checked the other rooms?’ I asked, giving her a valid reply.

‘Yes. And yours was the last place left. I think he was making a point. Getting to me by hurting you, thinking you’d be the one to find him.’

I actually believed that.

After thirty minutes, Mum called the police.

Through the railings, a dog snuffles at my back, and I’m reminded of where I am and who I’m with. I refrain from speaking the words poised on my lips. No matter what connection Imogen and I have, I mustn’t tell her my secret.

I change the course of our conversation. ‘I feel Ozzy’s loss,’ I say. ‘But Griff will feel it more.’

‘He will.’ Imogen launches herself off the wall and invites me to do the same.

‘He had to let him go.’ I jump down and aim for where I last spotted Honey. The sand is firm and easy to walk on. I’m barely leaving a footprint. My boots make a shallow impression, but it disappears as soon as I take another step.

‘Tough call,’ Imogen says. ‘Especially as Griff’s all about saving.’ She calls Honey to her, and the dog gallops across the beach. Imogen steps back to absorb the collision. ‘He’d insist on someone living, even if they didn’t want to be here.’

Although I’m concentrating on not being part of Honey’s shake and spray act, I’m aware Imogen is weighing me up.

I move out of Honey’s way just as she’s whirring into action. I’m amazed at how far dogs can eject water from their fur. Imogen’s all right. She’s wearing a rain mac.

‘Are you and Logan close?’ she asks, fitting the lead to Honey’s collar.

‘I don’t think of him as my granddad, but we get on.’ I’m of the opinion the question is linked to Imogen’s comment about Griff saving lives. Logan may well have told her about the directive Mum’s signed and I suppose he might have spoken about his desire to die. Imogen’s very easy to talk to. There’s a way about her that makes people share stuff. I’ve had to stop myself once or twice already.

She links her arm through mine again, and we march towards the promenade. ‘Would you be shocked if I told you Logan’s asked me to help him with something?’

‘I’ll be offended if it’s the gardening.’ I know where this conversation is leading. A joke won’t stop it from happening.

‘He’s been very honest with me about how he feels living alone, how much he misses Marilyn, and how much of a struggle life is for him, and he’s asked if I would help him find a happier place. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘He wants to die,’ I say, plainly. ‘I understand that.’

Imogen sighs. ‘I’d like to help him, Tess, I really would, but it goes against my principles. The thing is, and you can’t repeat this to anyone, he’s put me in a difficult position. I know he’s asked your mum and she’s refusing to have anything to do with it, and he said he could never ask Griff because he’d vehemently oppose it and it would be the end of their relationship, but what if Logan tries something and messes up? It has to be all or nothing for him. He can’t deal with having a sharp mind trapped in a useless body. He needs someone on his side. By his side.’ She pauses as we climb up the wooden steps, Honey straining to pull ahead. ‘Any thoughts?’

My left wrist itches, but I can’t scratch it as I’m on as short a leash as Honey. I’m locked to Imogen’s arm. ‘I have loads of thoughts,’ I say. ‘But none that would help Logan.’ Here’s one: If I decided to see his plan through, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Not even Mum. It would remain between Logan and me. ‘The old bugger’s going to have to put up with us looking after him.’ I raise a smile and hope it’s enough to put an end to this particular subject. ‘Can we go to a café now? There are dog-friendly ones over the road.’

Honey’s found a patch of sun to lie in and daydream. The crashing and lolloping around she did on the beach has worn her out. It’s like being out with Dylan. Crazy madness one minute and flat out the next. I’m enjoying the pecan and maple twist I promised myself, and Imogen is sipping a fruit flavoured tea. Our conversation has moved on from Logan, but I’ve given my word I wouldn’t repeat any of it to anyone. Imogen’s obviously made up her mind she can trust me, and I’m flattered.

I’m also warm and comfortable. The coffee shop has large, squishy armchairs.

‘I’ll have to go soon,’ Imogen says, returning her cup to its saucer. ‘Will you be at Logan’s later?’

A muffled no works its way out through an oversized bite of sweet pastry. I swallow, wipe my mouth and try again. ‘Mum’s popping round tonight. I’ll be looking after Dylan. You?’

‘I’m not sure when I’m next there. Logan wants to discuss the new arrangement with your mum first.’ She’s smiling as she trails her thumb up and down her china cup. ‘She sounds like a lovely lady.’

‘She is.’ I rub the crumbs off my hand and push away the plate. I pull out my phone, search for a photo of the family seated around the table on New Year’s Day, and show it to Imogen. Her head tilts and one brow cocks, then she gives this odd little nod as if she’s just confirmed something.

‘I was right when I said you take after your mum. She’s stunning. And I can see why Griff fell in love with her.’ Imogen pauses and stares at the photo. ‘Got to believe they’ll work things out.’

She prods the phone away and I take it as an indication she’s seen enough. I tuck it in my back pocket.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I know Mum wants to.’

‘She’s told you that?’

‘She tells me lots of things. We’re pretty close.’

‘I never had that with my mum. It was my dad I leaned on for support, but he left years ago.’ Imogen’s adopted a thoughtful expression. ‘That’s why it’s so wonderful being part of Logan’s life again.’

‘For fatherly guidance?’

She shrugs. ‘I told you I was selfish.’

‘You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you’re helping just so you feel good about yourself. You wouldn’t be a herbal healer if you did.’

‘Holistic practitioner.’ Her arms extend across the table and she wiggles her fingers. She wants me to take her hands. I’m so in the moment, I respond and reach out. Her skin is chilled. ‘I’d love to have a daughter like you,’ she says. ‘You’re so kind and caring.’

And there it is. The defining moment. How Imogen views me. I’d clearly been picking up rogue signals. It’s a relief, to be honest. I’m happy in the knowledge I’m a normal teenager, with crushes and fantasies just like everyone else. I can’t help smiling.

‘What is it?’

‘What you said. It’s a nice compliment.’ I’m not returning it, though. I’m happy with the mum I’ve got. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s true. It must be wonderful to be part of your family. Mine started disintegrating the day Kieran died.’

I think about this for a minute and compare Imogen’s life to mine. The day my dad died, our family started to grow. First in strength and then in numbers. I realise we’re the exception.

‘I hear Griff talk about you and Dylan, and his love for you both shines through. He’s a proud dad. He’s part of something special, and it’s something I want.’

‘It’s not wrong to want to belong,’ I say, marvelling at the fact Griff spoke about me. ‘It’s human nature. I’m happiest at home, with Mum and Dylan, even though I’m a bit of a loner by nature. Does that make sense?’ Imogen hums her response and I continue. ‘We’re a little out of shape, but I reckon things will improve with you around.’

I truly believe that. Imogen’s input is going to make a huge difference to our lives.

As I look across to her, I notice she’s staring down at our arms. My arms. The sleeves have ridden up. I’m quick to withdraw, but I’m trying not to overreact; not to draw attention to my marks.

Imogen’s eyes flick up to mine.